She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Capes came back into her mind. Natives are queer. Come in! Come in, do. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. It is you who took my name, not I yours. .
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